— FAKE ‘ENEMY’ DATING ꫂ᭪݁
જ⁀➴ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and Chris are ‘enemies’ but once he begs you to fake date for one night — it goes deeper.
જ⁀➴ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg tysm FOR ALL THE LOVE on my last post i fricking love you guys. if you wanna be tagged in my next posts comment !!!
˗ˏˋ 𝙞 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙚 — 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙩 ˎˊ˗
You were at your locker, switching out your books, hoodie sleeves half-pulled over your hands, when he came.
Leaning against the locker next to yours like he owned the whole row, like he didn’t spend the last two years pretending you were his favorite person to annoy.
Chris (flat, straight to the point):
“I need you to fake-date me.”
“My whole family thinks I’m bringing my girlfriend to dinner tomorrow night. Except… she cheated. So. I need someone.”
You scoffed, full eye-roll activated.
You slammed your locker shut and turned to leave—
Fingers through your belt loop. A firm tug.
Chris (low, a little smug):
“One week. You pretend to be my girlfriend. Family dinner, school, all of it.”
Chris (tilting his head):
“You are. I don’t give a fuck.”
“I’m picking you up at six. Dress nice.”
But not even five steps in—
“Chris. I’m not doing it.”
And this time—he didn’t say anything.
Pressed a kiss to your lips.
Soft. Warm. Just a second too long.
Then, still close—mouth brushing yours—he whispered:
Leaving your heart in your throat. Your lips tingled.
The kiss had been soft—too soft for Chris. Too warm. Too… real.
You stood there, frozen in the middle of the crowded hallway, backpack half-slung over one shoulder, face burning like you’d just sprinted through a desert.
Someone bumped into you—“Move!”
But you didn’t move right away.
Chris Sturniolo—your mortal enemy since sophomore year—the guy who tripped you in gym class on purpose and called your lunch “sad”—just kissed you?
And walked away like it was nothing?
Like kissing his fake girlfriend-to-be was totally normal?
Students passed by, laughing and chatting—but all sound blurred into white noise as your brain short-circuited:
Did he mean that? Was this part of the act already? Why did it feel... weirdly nice??
You touched your lips with two fingers without thinking—and immediately cursed yourself for doing something so stupidly romantic. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You didn’t even want to look—but you did.
No emoji. No follow-up. Just… a demand, like he’d already moved on from the kiss and was now dictating your entire outfit for this fake relationship that hadn't even started yet.
You groaned, shoving the phone back into your bag.
The bell rang for next period, but all you could think about was Chris showing up at six tonight with his stupid perfect hair and that smug face… expecting you to play his sweet little girlfriend in front of his whole family?
A tiny part of you—the traitorous part—was kind of... curious what kissing him again would feel like.
Your doorbell rang—sharp and impatient, like the guy pressing it had zero chill.
You were still in your room, staring at yourself in the mirror.
The outfit you’d chosen was… nice. Not overly fancy—but not casual either. A fitted cream sweater over a white blouse, high-waisted black pants that hugged your legs just right, knee-high boots with subtle heels. You’d even done light makeup—soft blush, mascara—and pulled half your hair into a loose side braid.
Like you actually tried for him—which you didn’t! This wasn’t real!
Another buzz of the doorbell—more aggressive this time. Impatient Chris was officially outside and judging your entire existence from behind his phone screen probably reading “She’s late.”
You took one last breath…
Then walked downstairs. You opened the door.
Chris Sturniolo—tall, unfairly attractive in a fitted navy sweater and dark jeans that made his legs look way too long. His hair was perfectly messy, like he’d spent five minutes styling it to look effortless (he definitely had). He smelled like clean soap and something woodsy—probably cologne you couldn’t afford.
His eyes flicked over you once. Slowly. Carefully.
No smirk this time. No sarcastic comment about your outfit or how late you were (which wasn’t even late).
Just… silence for half a second too long before:
Voice lower than usual. Softer? Or was that just nerves?
Then his gaze dropped to your lips again—the same spot they'd brushed against yesterday—and something unreadable flashed across his face. Chris cleared his throat.
A tiny, almost awkward sound—so unlike him.
Then he stepped forward without warning and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into a loose side hug. Not tight enough to crush you—but firm enough that anyone looking would see: Yeah, she’s with me.
Before you could react—he pressed a kiss to your temple. Soft. Chaste.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do this with you.
“You look… good,” he muttered against your hair before straightening up again like nothing happened.
His ears were slightly pink though—the only hint that maybe Chris Sturniolo wasn’t as cool about this fake-dating situation as he pretended. The car ride was quiet.
Chris drove his mom’s sleek black sedan—clean, silent, the kind of car that screamed responsible adult. He had one hand on the wheel and the other resting near your seat—not touching you—but close enough that if he leaned over slightly, his fingers would brush your knee.
You stared out the window at passing streetlights turning gold in dusk. The radio wasn’t on. No music. Just soft hums of traffic and Chris breathing beside you like a steady rhythm you weren’t used to hearing so up close.
He glanced at you once or twice—you caught it both times—but neither of them spoke until…
Simple question. Direct as ever. You hesitated.
But admitting that felt like giving him power—like he’d won some unspoken battle just by asking.
So instead of saying yes, you shrugged and stared harder out the window, pretending to be fascinated by a passing billboard for fast food.
Chris didn’t buy it though.
He exhaled through his nose—almost amused—and then reached over slowly… not touching your face, but brushing one finger along your sleeve where it had ridden up slightly on your wrist. A tiny, casual touch. Like testing something.
“They’re gonna love you.”
Just… sincere. The house was huge.
Like, mansion-huge. All warm brick and glowing windows, with a perfectly manicured lawn lit by soft outdoor lights. It looked like something out of a magazine—rich family energy in full effect.
Chris parked the car smoothly into the driveway beside two other cars—probably his parents’ and siblings’. He turned off the engine… then finally looked at you again.
No cocky remark about how you’d better not embarrass him.
Just quiet intensity as he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned slightly toward you.
Before getting out, Chris reached over—and gently took your hand.
His palm was warm. A little calloused from guitar strings or maybe sports practice or whatever rich-kid things he did when no one was watching. He didn’t say anything as he laced his fingers through yours.
Just squeezed—once. Softly. Reassuring? Or maybe just… claiming you in front of the house like it was a territory.
Then he opened his door, stepped out, and came around to your side before you could even move.
Chris pulled your door open himself—the gentleman act throwing you off completely. Since when did Chris Sturniolo open doors for people?
He held out his hand again—waiting for you to take it.
The front porch light shone over him, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and those stupidly long lashes girls always whispered about at school. You hesitated for half a second—just long enough that Chris raised an eyebrow at you, like Really? Now?
His fingers immediately curled around yours, firm and warm. He didn’t squeeze again—but he didn’t let go either. Just kept holding on as he led you up the wide stone path to the front door.
Before either of you could knock…
A tall woman with Chris’s exact smile stood there—elegant in a silk blouse and tailored pants, her hair perfectly styled. She looked exactly like one of those moms from TV: flawless, poised… intimidating as hell.
Her eyes landed on your joined hands. The woman’s face instantly lit up—genuinely, like she’d just seen a miracle.
She clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy only a mother who really wants grandchildren can have.
Mrs. Sturniolo (softly, warmly):
“Oh my… Chris! You brought her!”
Her voice was rich and melodic—and immediately so much kinder than you expected from someone in such a fancy house.
Chris nodded beside you—still calm as ever—but there was something almost... shy about him now? Like he wasn’t used to introducing girls to his mom.
Then she stepped forward without warning—and pulled you into a hug. The hug was sudden—warm, strong, and mothers-in-law-who-are-too-excited levels of tight.
Mrs. Sturniolo squeezed you like she’d been waiting years for this moment, her perfume—something floral with vanilla—filling your nose as she rocked you slightly.
Then she pulled back… still holding your shoulders… eyes scanning every detail of your face.
Mrs. Sturniolo (beaming):
“Ohhh! You’re adorable. Look at those eyes! Chris never told us how pretty his girlfriend is!”
She turned to glare playfully at Chris—the kind only a mom can pull off: equal parts affection and mild betrayal.
Slightly pink. The dining room was set—elegant, with fine china and crystal glasses glowing under the soft chandelier light. The table was long enough to seat six people, already half-filled: Chris’s parents on one end, his older brother Matt across from them… and an empty chair right beside Chris.
Like they’d expected you.
Mrs. Sturniolo gently guided you toward it—her hand warm on your back—and pulled out the chair for you like royalty had just entered her home.
Matt—the quietest of all three brothers—glanced up at your arrival. Tall like Chris but softer around the edges, less intense in expression. He gave a small nod when he saw you. Dinner had been… surprisingly normal.
No interrogation. No weird questions about how you and Chris met or when he knew you were “the one.” Just casual conversation—his dad talking about golf, his mom asking Matt about work, light laughter over salad and roasted chicken.
Chris sat beside you the entire time—close enough that his arm brushed yours every so often—and once in a while, he’d reach over to squeeze your hand under the table like it was second nature. Like this was real.
The only thing that felt fake?
How easily everyone accepted you as his girlfriend.
No raised eyebrows at him holding your hand.
Just pure warmth from them all. After dessert—a rich chocolate torte that Mrs. Sturniolo insisted you try—everyone migrated to the living room.
The fireplace was lit, casting a cozy golden glow over plush couches and family photos lining the mantel. Chris’s mom brought out tea and coffee, while his dad settled into an armchair with a newspaper.
Matt sat on one end of the sofa—and without hesitation, Chris tugged you down right beside him on the other side.
His thigh pressed fully against yours now. No space between them anymore.
And without even thinking … he softly leaned in and kissed me. Chris Sturniolo kissed me. The kiss was soft.
Softer than the one in the hallway at school—no urgency, no surprise. Just… gentle.
Chris turned his head slowly, like he’d been thinking about it all through dessert and tea and small talk with his family. His lips met yours—warm, careful—and for a second, you froze because oh my god he’s kissing me again.
Just slightly—a tiny tilt of your mouth against his—but it happened. And when Chris felt it? He deepened the kiss by a fraction: barely pulling away before pressing another light peck to your lips.
Just quiet affection right there on their couch while everyone else sipped drinks around them.
This felt too 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞. And honestly? 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐝 —
𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇’𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒: i feel like this is the longest story ive ever done for now but i still feel it’s a little bit short, but hope you enjoyed !!! ⋆˚꩜｡
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @vaesturn @summerupdup @slutforbonesandall @urfaveprettypsycho @courta13 @whore4chris ( Comment 🥳 if you wanna get tagged in my next ones !!!)
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